


Between a Rock and a Hard Place

by BumbleBeetle



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Family, Angel/Human Relationships, Angst, Archangels, BAMF Gabriel, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Danger, F/M, Fear of Death, Graphic Description, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, POV Second Person, Protective Gabriel, Protectiveness, Reader is a danger magnet, Reader-Insert, Siblings, To Be Continued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleBeetle/pseuds/BumbleBeetle
Summary: Fleeing Vega was smart. Avoiding Michael's brand of crazy was top priority. Y/N wasn't planning on being fed to oversized house cats anytime soon.What wasn't smart? Getting raided by eight-balls. And only having one bullet left.





	1. Running with Lions

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE NOT GIVEN PERMISSION TO ANY PLATFORM OTHER THAN ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN TO HOST MY WORK. IF THIS WORK IS FOUND ON ANY OUTSIDE APP SUCH AS "FANFIC POCKET LIBRARY ARCHIVE" THEN THEY HAVE STOLEN MY WORK AND ARE USING IT TO PROFIT WITHOUT MY CONSENT OR PERMISSION.

_Despite being lectured since birth that leaving Vega was punishable by death, you had taken that chance. You fled in a stolen civilian vehicle, packed with canned goods and other survival supplies, grip white-knuckled on the wheel. The other senators, and Gabriel, had promised to accompany you, but you couldn't stay any longer. Michael had gone insane. Lusting for war and death._ _In a matter of days he commanded a vast army of higher angels, which he then paraded through the streets. The City of Lights was turned on its' head, and small-scale rioting soon led to all-out civil war. As punishment for humanity's transgressions against his kind, and recent acts of defiance, he lined up the leaders of each house and fed them to Whele's pet lions._

You slid behind an overturned pew, heart hammering. Drab fatigues torn and boots caked in mud, you frantically pawed at the inside of you pouch for something, _anything_ to use. Blanks tumbled out, rolling lazily in the dust. Shoddily-fletched arrows chewed the wood by your head, laughter sending shivers down your spine. _Damned possessed!_ Your fingertips brushed a single bullet, and a glimmer of hope warmed your soul, if only for an instant.

Loading your revolver, you peeked around, only to draw back as metal gouged your cheek. Sparing a touch coated your fingers with red, the rough-hewn bit landing among shards from a stained-glass window, blues and purples scattering in the dying desert sunlight. Shooting wildly from the hip, you were rewarded with a guttural howl and the _thud_ of a body. Tossing your now-useless firearm away, you resigned yourself to fate, seeing no other way out. _They had you cornered._ Crumbling beams blocked doorways, debris piled higher than the frames, and a splintered cross lay on the altar. Closing your eyes, you waited with baited breath, imagining the eight-balls circling like ravenous wolves.

_But none came._

Instead, the ceiling broke apart in a roar as Gabriel landed, enraged. Flexing his wings — the sound akin to a shaken-out sheet — he clipped a greasy-haired trucker in the chest, wet gurgles escaping as they crumpled. Arrows wildly stuck the beams above [Y/N]'s head, and you hunkered down for safety. Another two, caked with layers of makeup rushed the archangel, and he twisted, a blur of ebon feathers. Their bodies ended up hanging from the rafters, crimson streaking faded brass plaques. A fourth clad in shredded overalls leapt over the pulpit aiming to surprise him, but he caught her first. Legs kicking and eyes bulging, her nails clawed his wrist. Snapping her crude spear, he impaled her clean through the chest. After tossing the lifeless corpse aside, he shrugged his shoulders, wings folding neatly.

Plodding across weeds and dirt, he found you with your back to the wood, jacket alarmingly darker. Your hands were soaked, rivulets streaming through pinched fingers and breathing shallow. The source of your wound — an arrow, one that was loosed too early. Struggling to form sentences in angel-tongue, you resorted to basic english instead. "Gabriel," you whimpered, eyes beginning to glaze over. _Shock had hit before pain._ Hushing you, he knelt, carefully peeling away your jacket long enough for the wound to bubble up. Pressing swatches of his coat to the opening, he muttered countless apologies.

_It was in too deep. He couldn't remove the end, or you'd bleed out._

Speaking of bleeding, you were losing too much far too fast, and paralyzing fear crept over him. Icy claws gripped his heart, pumping that same cold through his veins. His chest tightened, adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed. Cradling [Y/N] to his chest, his wings fanned out one smooth, swift motion. Taking to the skies, he concentrated on cities with medical centers untouched by Michael's wrath. _Helena, the city of women? New Delphi, where humans and eight-balls coexisted?_

With hundreds of miles between them, time was running short.

* * *

Three days and three nights he flew, taking shelter temporarily in an abandoned gas station. Liquid in the canisters had dried up long ago, orange dust caking the inside. Skeletons of rusted-out cars sat, waiting for employees that would never come. Paper faces littered the ground, cash registers overturned and fridge emptied of its contents.

Leaning against the door frame, Gabriel lifted his head from the grass bits he'd been fooling with, scanning the horizon. The air smelt of ozone, pungent and sharp, heralding oncoming rain. Storms formed quick in desert heat, whipping into a frenzy. Lightning arched towards towering mesas, spiderlike fingers fanning out. Soft, labored breathing drew the angel's attention, glancing over his shoulder. [Y/N]'s skin was damp with sweat, and hadn't fared any better. Last he checked, your wound turned an angry red, leaking a foul discharge. Wild remedies had done next to nothing to ease discomfort.

Retreating once the thunderstorm moved overhead, he blocked the door, hoping it would keep any with ill-intent away. Easing beside [Y/N], he reached to lift your head into his lap. You mumbled at the sensation, yet did not wake, not even when he carded his fingers through your hair. His other hand lay on his sword hilt, alert. Blinding flashes followed whiplash cracks, throwing menacing shadows against decrepit, browning wallpaper. Thunder rumbled, powerful enough to shake the foundations, knock light fixtures to the floor. The breaking of glass shattered ominous silence. Gabriel tensed, shoulders stiffening, staring towards the doorway. It shook violently, almost caving inwards.

The gentle caress of another blade caused him to twist, wings exploding from his back as he tackled the intruder through pliable plaster and wood. They tumbled, tussling, sand stirred up into a thick, choking mess. Slamming the other person into the ground, the tip hovered inches from their jugular. Soft pink lips curled into a teasing grin, wisps of blonde hair tugged by the breeze. She wore strips of white beneath a leather chestplate and metal-linked skirt, gold-scaled pauldrons and wristguards secured by faded strappings. Gabriel faltered, brows lifting in surprise.

"Uriel?"


	2. Red Flame, Gold Halo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With [Y/N] injured, wound festering, and running out of time, Gabriel barely had a moment of peace before an intruder appeared! It's revealed that they're Archangel Uriel, his little sister and rumored consort of Queen Arika of Helena! 
> 
> Can Gabriel worm his way out?

Lightning strikes the ground around them. Inky, amorphous silhouettes frame both figures. Four wing-shadows spread above those at their shoulders, heads taking the shape of beasts crowned by incadescent rings. Waves of heat ebb and flow from within, like they'd swallowed fragments of the sun.  
There are eyes, too. Cloudy and red-rimmed, all manner of colors. Hundreds, possibly thousands running along every visible limb. Rolling wildly in their sockets to follow each other's movements.  
And then the flash dissipates, droplets pelting their earthly vessels. If any wandering mortal had gazed upon their true forms then, they'd instantly vaporize.

  
"Brother," Uriel purrs. She spreads both hands, palms facing out to show she's unarmed. The foldable weapon she carries has fallen to the wayside, streaked with filth. There's an impression in the sand where he'd pinned her, surroundings barren of scrub vegetation. "You've been avoiding Raphael and I."

"If you'd contacted me before this, I wouldn't have ruined your _dress_ ," Gabriel counters, pulling her to her feet as he slides his sword into its sheath. He blinks against the rain, watching her, his arms folding across his chest. "And I've no time for you to feed me any of Michael's drivel—"

"What makes you assume I would?" Uriel spares her older brother a dispassionate look as she circles him, her meandering gait reminding him of a predator about to strike.  
"You've always been a scheming serpent, little sister," he bit back. "Playing the rich and powerful, only to plunge daggers into their backs in the end."

"Clever boy, aren't you? Since Vega has been cleansed, I thought you'd be rejoicing—"

"You must have me confused with some other angel. And it's been massacred."

"What?"

"This wasn't a cleansing. It was a veritable bloodbath. A repeat of babylon's plight. Do not think I've forgotten our history so easily."

Drawing slender fingers along her blade, Uriel effortlessly flicked away particles of gritty sand. "I'd hoped you'd moved on. Unfortunately, I see you've still got loose ends."

Gabriel visibly bristles, a raw nerve struck. "[Y/N]? No. They aren't a 'loose end', as you so eloquently put."

"Then tell me, what good comes from clinging to this human when the world's gone to hell in a handbasket?" She asks, bemused. "Does the place in which [Y/N] recieves treatment even matter?"

"It does!" Gabriel barks, whirling on her. Uriel takes a half-step back, appraising him with a cool, if wary, confidence. "[Y/N] could be dying! Wound festering and mind on the verge of collapse! And you wish to whittle the hours away, completely indecisive!"

There's a beat, and then--

"So, Helena?" 

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, BumbleBeetle here.
> 
> Simple reminder: Leave a comment! Support is encouraging and we should all be doing it! ❤


End file.
